


Unlucky

by witchdoctor789



Series: Danganronpa Drabbles [7]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, But Mostly Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It gets gay later on dw, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchdoctor789/pseuds/witchdoctor789
Summary: Suddenly, Komaeda Nagito finds himself back in the nightmare he wished to forget.(Discontinued)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Series: Danganronpa Drabbles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1384951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	1. Unlucky

**Author's Note:**

> If you know me as a friend, I'm sorry I forced you to suffer through "The Komaeda Document." If you don't know me as a friend, this is, in fact, the previously mentioned "Komaeda Document." I submitted this last semester for my AP English class as a journal project. I was sent to the counseling office the next day. I'll write a second chapter so I can make it gay, but it's gonna have to wait until after my AP exam, which is at 2pm today. Enjoy.

The sand shifted as he walked, crunching like snow in late December. The salty breeze blew back his fluffy hair as he walked. The giant stone statue of the “new” Jabberwock Island mascot loomed over him, the glow of the moon behind it only solidified the fraudulent sense of safety among the inhabitants on the island. Surely, the idea of a bear as a mascot was a good idea at the time, but ever since their arrival, it only reminded them of the vacation-like prison they were stuck in. That bear was  _ everywhere _ . The statue, the weird recreation of Mount Rushmore, the stuffed animals that were hidden around the island, and the slot machine that was hidden inside a metal palm tree not much farther up the beach. 

His vampire-like skin was nothing more than a billboard to display his various illnesses, as if his snow white hair didn’t do it enough. His poor immune system could do little to protect him from his various other illnesses and the constant fatigue stopped his body from repairing itself. He had always been underweight, though the doctors caught the cause of it just too late, the cough and constant shortness of breath being clear signs of cancer. They had always pushed off doing tests due to his young age, but that young age didn’t stop him from developing early-onset lymphoma at the ripe age of thirteen, just a year after he was given the news of his frontotemporal dementia. By the time the diagnosis came through, it was far too late to undergo any treatments, body far too weak to handle radiation or medication. He was given a year to live.

Four years later, and the sand still sinks beneath his shoes, though much less than they would have a year ago. His fluffy, cloud-like hair attempted to hide his ailments from the other students on the school trip, though it did little to hide anything else. Behind the curtain of white was not only three extra miraculous years of life, but multiple games of Russian Roulette and attempts on his own life. He almost thought it was a shame, to be included among the best of the best, the most talented to exist, the “ultimates.” It was a shame that such a title be wasted on him as well, for he did nothing like the others. He was no musician. He wasn’t a chef or a nurse. Being a traditional dancer was too far out of his league and doing gymnastics would certainly kill him in his current state. He knew he was nowhere near as smart or talented as the others. He  _ certainly  _ didn’t have as much hope as the others, and they still allowed him to exist with those who would save the world someday. They still thought he was worthy. 

The Ultimate Luck.

Even if he saw himself unworthy of such a status, he couldn’t say it wasn’t fitting at this point. Despite being considered the best of the best, he might as well not exist. Few people were willing to speak to him, and those who did were usually scared away within the next few days. He did all that he could to try and bring any sort of attention to himself. His parents were no longer around to give him the affection he craved, leading into his unfashionable, yet somehow fashionable fashion sense. The school issued coat was the smallest in size, yet it still draped over his shoulders like a blanket, the poorly cut triangle-shape did little to make it any shorter, though it still made him stand out in the worst way possible. He was ill nearly his entire life, and even so, somehow grew to be nearly six feet tall. He rarely found shoes that were in his size, the only ones ended up having zippers on them. Back then, it seemed like a terrible decision, but now, years later, he found himself unable to bend down due to his weakness, and found shoes that never came untied to be quite useful. 

The lack of shoelaces, however, did not prevent him from nearly falling. His knees were weak, and he hadn’t eaten a full meal in days, and the hatred from the remaining students stopped him from going anywhere other than his cabin or away from the common areas. Soon enough, he found himself somewhere he never wanted to be again. The despair radiating from the mountain terrified him. Memories of the long trials and friends facing their punishment at the hands of a stuffed bear. Despite seeing his own die before his eyes, nothing was more traumatic than seeing a friend, who only wanted to see her best friend survive, be slaughtered on her own by an army built only to bring her to her demise. His knees finally gave out just beyond the staircase to the courtroom. Lungs struggled to inflate as his body was crushed under the weight of his anxieties. 

Tears streamed down his face as he accepted his fate, trapped on the island until he became another victim to the game. He had always thought that was what he wanted, to be a stepping stone and help someone escape. His body shuddered as he laid on the ground, knees to his chest in an attempt to provide a sense of safety that was no longer there. The feeling in his body began to go fuzzy, his throat constricting as he panicked, isolated from humanity. The moonlight disappeared as it stood behind the statue of their executioner, leaving him in darkness as he awaited his end. Hallucinations settled in as his brain lacked oxygen, losing all feeling in his arm until he noticed his nails blood red, much longer than he remembered them being just moments ago. His vision grew dark, the remaining moonlight doing little to comfort him in his time of need. As weary eyes began to close, the statue of that dreaded bear continued to look right through him.


	2. Gambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime goes for a walk along the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write an extra gay theird chapter bc that's what I did with Draining and I'd feel bad if I didn't make this as gay as possible despite Komaeda basically dying every chapter so far.

It wasn’t until later that Hinata found his peer curled against the sand. White hair swayed atop the sand like a daisy in the middle of spring. A mix of fear and worry flowed through his veins as he ran along the beach. His heart was pounding as his feet hit the ground, praying there hadn’t been further complications with the other’s various illnesses. It seemed as though time was going slower than usual, it took much too long to him to finally reach the ill-stricken boy, and when he finally had, he found himself terrified of the examination required of him. 

Much to his surprise, there was still a beating heart beneath the thin layers of skin and muscle. Air still flowed through lungs and skin still held little, though noticeable, warmth. Despite the seemingly functioning body, he found a weaker than usual pulse. The lucky student shivered due to the nighttime air, and the layer of sweat coating his body did little to help. Hinata’s fingers intertwined with those of a much paler hand as he attempted to wake his comatose partner. 

It only took a few moments for his efforts to be proven fruitless. He removed his own thin jacket before securing it around the other like a cocoon, hoping the extra layers would provide the warmth needed to keep the other alive. Hajime could feel the chill of the mechanical arm through the fabric, flinching at the contact. If left unattended much longer, the white-haired boy could suffer serious side effects. He slipped arms around the other’s shoulders and under his knees before lifting him. It would take too much time to wake Mikan and get to the hospital in time. He rushed across the sand, occasionally swerving to avoid rocks or a fallen tree branch. He considered his destination for another second, before taking a sharp turn towards the cabins.

Hinata practically kicked his door open, unable to use his hands to do so. He tucked Nagito into bed before turning on the heater. Despite nearly freezing to death, there seemed to be minimal physical effects. They would have to wait for the other to wake before any long-term damage could be assessed. At the least, there would be a mild ice burn, at the worst, Nagito wouldn’t wake up. Hajime retreated to the bathroom, intending to gather first aid supplies, but instead finding himself sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His head fell into his hands, attempting to hold himself together just a bit longer. The cold temperature of the restroom taunted him, forcing him back to when his hand landed upon the other’s metal limb. Oh how he wished to cry, to finally allow himself to convey his feelings to the one he adores, but, crying could wait until he knew his friend would survive. Crying could wait until he knew the man he loved could be okay. 

When Nagito awoke, he was looking at the ceiling. A warm towel had been wrapped around the place where his metal and flesh arm connected, and a similarly warm washcloth had been draped over his forehead. As his eyes roamed around he room, he found it too messy to be his own. The weight on his leg only confirmed his deductions. Slowly, he pulled himself up, bringing his once decayed-flesh arm into view. The bright red nails he believed were there had been replaced with titanium fingertips, part of the limb gifted to him by Hinata and Souda. He shivered at the memory. The memory of Enoshima’s death. The memory of the sound his footsteps made as he walked toward her deceased body. The memory of the blood that stained his clothes as he removed her arm. The memory of how cold the saw felt against his skin as he sawed his own off. The memory of how lightheaded he felt as he lost the blood meant to stay inside his body. The memory of the needle piercing his skin and the thread sliding beneath it as he replaced his own arm with that of someone he absolutely _despised_. The memory of hyperventilating.

Perhaps that last one wasn’t a memory.

_Perhaps it’d be best to stop thinking._


End file.
